We are punctual people.  No no, we are early people.  As a kid I remember beating my teacher to school on most days.  My husband remembers arriving for a movie 45 minutes before the previews started.  Our parents were early people so we are early people… until now.  Our punctuality has been rocked by a chubby bald lady.

Before Darby, we left the house precisely at 7:20am to catch the bus.  I listened to music or read or otherwise zoned out on my brief commute.  It was basically a continuation of my sleep.  I arrived in my office (baring any bus delays/no-shows) at 7:50 before most others, had my coffee, and got to work.  It was nice.

After Darby…  *Deep breath* This is my morning:

5:30 wake-up.  Shower. Hair. Teeth. Make-up. Husband wakes up Baby and changes Baby’s diaper. I start feeding Baby.  Baby can’t stop smiling at me which I LOVE but also kind of want to stop because Baby can’t suck from the bottle if she’s smiling. We can smile at each other later, Sweet Pea. Right now we eat. Baby focuses for a minute or two and then falls asleep or is far too consumed by our fascinating living room (that isn’t so fascinating) to eat.  Baby resumes eating.  [Time for poopsplosion and/or barfsplosion clean up as needed.] Get Baby dressed while praying that there is not a poopsplosion and/or barfsposion once she is in her daytime clothes.  Husband takes over feeding.  I get dressed.  Gather Baby’s stuff for daycare.  Gather my stuff for work.  I take over feeding while Husband gathers his stuff for work. Conclude feeding anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour after it began depending on Baby’s cooperativity.  (Is that a word?  You know what I mean.)  Put Baby in carseat.  Get disgusting dried chicken treat for Dog.  Gather stuff.  Get Baby.  Toss disgusting chicken treat to Dog in an effort to distract her as we walk out the door. Dog falls for trick every time. Some time between 7-7:15am drive to the Metro.  Park.  Get Baby into K’tan.  Stuff burp cloth into K’tan as a preemptive move against barf. Remember all of my bags and Baby’s bags.  Get on Metro.  Listen to Baby grunt and groan as she tries to twist herself around in the K’tan so she can be absolutely certain she’s seeing all there is to see.  Get off one stop later and walk half a mile to Baby’s daycare.  Pass Baby off to teacher.  Put away bottles.  Put away replacement clothes/wipes/diapers/etc.  Kiss Baby good-bye. Walk another half mile to my office.  Arrive (hopefully) some time between 7:45-8:00am.  Eat breakfast.  Drink coffee.  Relax.  Get to work.  Phew.

There are a million little variables in this routine that can throw everything into a tailspin.  Severity and timing of poopslosion/barfsplosion, Baby’s ability or inability to focus on eating, how easy or difficult it is to get Baby to burp, etc.

I know that in her adorable little head (ok, 84th percentile sized head…), she’s laughing at the idea that we just might have some sort of routine in place that gets us where we need to be at set times.  I just know that one day she’s going to have her poopsplosion all over my work clothes and/or barf down my back without me knowing.  I just know it.  I’m waiting.  Good thing she’s ridiculously cute.